


I Walk the Line

by tea_petty



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: Arthur Maxson finally meets his match.





	1. Fallin' for You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

How long had it been now?  Weeks, months?  Sole would guess the latter, seeing as she had started getting the hang of all the intricate medical techniques Knight-Captain Cade had taught her since her arrival on the Prydwen.  It had been a rough transition; or rather, a series of rough transitions.  The one from Suburbia to Vault 111 had been the easiest perhaps, oddly enough, although Sole would chok that up to the lack of time she had had to process it.  Vault 111 to Commonwealth had been a little bit tougher; save for the cryo melt down, there were a lot less things in the Vault that had wanted to kill her than in the Commonwealth.  Commonwealth to Prydwen had just been an unbelievable stroke of luck, Sole sometimes thought, and other times, she wished she were still scrounging around the Commonwealth, with no officers to report to, no need to prove her place, and no scrutiny from a commanding officer that was her age, give or take two-hundred years.

Sole shook herself from her train of thought; there was no use in mulling over it now; here she was, and she had charts to finish. Sole clicked her pen, and resumed focus on the sheets of paper in front of her; a few bumps and bruises here and there, some gunshot wounds, and one outlier case of an STD.  Ah yes, Sole remembered when Cade had reported that to Maxson; as well as the memo about how fraternization was heavily frowned upon that debuted after.

“Do you have those charts finished yet?”  Cade strode in.

“Just about – I’m finishing up the last one now.”

“Good, Elder Maxson’s been asking that all our records be up to date by the end of today.”

“And so, they shall be.”  Sole remarked, looking over the chart one last time, before signing her name at the bottom with a flourish, and passing it and the pen to Cade so that he could follow.

“Excellent work, thank you.”

Sole nodded, smiling. “Of course.”

Cade scribbled his own chick-scratch handwriting on the bottom of the form as well, before setting it atop the stack, and collecting the stack to hand back to Sole.  Sole eyed the repetitive sequence of Cade’s horrific scrawl on chart, after chart. He was probably the reason ‘doctor’s handwriting’ had its own reputation.

“Now, if you just run these over to Proctor Quinlan’s so he can file them in the archives, you’re all set for the day.”

Sole perked up at this, “You mean I can have the rest of the day off?”

Cade shrugged, and looked around briefly, before returning to his desk.

“It’s a slow day, and you finished early, so I don’t see why not.”

_All right!_

Sole mentally cheered, before hoisting the stack of charts in her arms, tucking the top beneath her chin, and heading out of the infirmary.  She made her way down the length of the corridor, trying to find her way back to Quinlan’s office; they had both been so busy, it had been ages since she had visited him, and the endless nooks and crannies stowed in the length of the Prydwen could easily have her wandering around with her cargo for  _hours_.  Sole rounded one corner, and then another, only to find that she had gone in a circle.

“Crap.” She muttered, trying the opposite turn this time.

Sole rounded the corner, only to see another short corridor, with two more possible hallways forking off at the end.  This was starting to look a little more familiar.

Sole picked up the pace, eager to finish, now that it looked like her chore was close to being finished.  She rounded the next corner fast, and if you asked Arthur, a little too fast, for the next thing Sole saw was a close up of Arthur’s commander’s armor, and the slick leather of his coat lapels, before she face planted into him, rebuffed, and landed flat on her butt, scattering charts everywhere.

Sole’s face flushed, “Pardon me, Elder Maxson.”

Arthur’s face was stony as always, but to Sole’s surprise, he knelt and aided her in gathering the rest of the dropped cargo.

“Just be more careful.”

His voice was as cold as always, and Sole couldn’t help but feel hyperaware of his roughness; his intimidating prowess. He was a man who exuded power, and commanded respect.

“Yes sir.”

Sole kept her head down, as she stacked the charts neatly.  She hesitated when one of Arthur’s large hands came to stack a few too – and she politely waited for his hand to stray before letting hers return to the stack.

“How are you adjusting?”

Sole raised her eyebrows as Arthur stood, easily balancing the stack of charts.

“S-sir?”

Sole moved so that he could shift the load into her arms, grateful that the number of files she had to deliver were enough so that the charts could shield her warmed cheeks from his unwavering stare.

“To Brotherhood life; you seem to be doing well considering the state we found you in.  Knight-Captain Cade tells me you’re a quick learner, and a big help.  You look well.”

“Yes sir, I’m grateful Cade – er, Knight-Captain Cade enlisted my help at all; I feel I’m best suited in the medical offices, opposed to in the field.” Sole admitted.

Arthur nodded, “We all have our own means of helping the cause.”

“Yes sir.”

“Excellent, well, once you’ve finished your training with Knight-Captain Cade, we’ll give you a title and have you officially inducted into the Brotherhood.  For now, though, I believe you have a delivery to make to Proctor Quinlan?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then you should probably be on your way.”

“Yes sir, thank you again sir.”

In Sole’s haste, she sent the tower of charts in her arms teetering precariously in either direction.  She hurriedly steadied it, careful not to notice how Arthur’s gaze followed the dangerous sway of the stack in Sole’s arms, skeptical.  He watched as Sole nimbly hurried on, turning the corner to Quinlan’s chambers, before continuing on his way.

Meanwhile, Sole arrived at Proctor Quinlan’s office.

“Hey, Quinlan, I’ve got some stuff for you.” Sole called, from behind the mass in her arms.

“So, I see.” Sole felt the weight lifted from her grasp, only to reveal Quinlan, lifting the stack from her arms, and placing it on his desk, disturbing Emmett from his rest.

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?”

Quinlan adjusted his glasses, never ceasing his tasks, as he moved to head back to the terminal.

“The same I’ve always been; busy finding tech for the Brotherhood, and worried that we’re going through more Scribe’s than we have in our arsenal.”

Sole nodded, letting herself in further, and beelining to Emmett, who had relocated next to the stack of charts, to give him a nice scratch behind the ears.

“And how have you been kitty?  Feeling good?”

Quinlan snorted at Sole’s conversational tone towards his cat.

“You seem to be in good spirits.”

“Who couldn’t be with this face?”  Sole squished her hands along Emmett’s face, much to his annoyance, her voice exaggerated and babyish, before returning to normal.  “Plus, Cade gave me the rest of the day off.”

“That is good.” Quinlan agreed.

“So, you look busy now…but maybe later tonight we can catch up?”

“Sure, the bar at six?”

“See ya then,” Sole gave a short wave to Quinlan’s back before giving Emmett one last pet, and disappearing from his quarters. Now, to kill some time.


	2. Disagreement over Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sole Survivor meets up with Proctor Quinlan for drinks, little does she realize, Arthur had a similar idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The rest of the afternoon marched on as slowly and painstakingly as Sole had aged in her frozen tomb, in Vault 111.  It occurred to Sole that she had never gotten the day off like she had today, as long as she’d been on the Prydwen.  The emptiness in her day felt vast, and her restlessness seemingly did nothing to fill it.  Sole decidedly lounged around in her bunker, reading a bit from the historical archives the Brotherhood kept on board, until finally six o’clock rolled around and Sole eagerly made her way to the Prydwen bar.  

The lighting was dim and based on the steady flux of Brothers moving in and out, the liquor was flowing.  From the corner, a Brother sat casually strumming a guitar, a Sister perched next to him, looking over his shoulder.  The folksy notes rang out above the steady chatter as everyone unwound for the day.  Several tables in the vicinity were occupied already, so Sole made her way straight to the bar itself, where Quinlan was waiting for her.  Two seats away, Paladin Danse sat, chatting quietly with Elder Maxson, the lanterns that decorated the bar casting dark shadows across their faces as they sipped their dark drinks.

“Hey Quinlan!”  Sole called, scooting onto the stool to his right.

“Sole,” he greeted, pushing a glass of whiskey towards her, before taking a sip of his own drink.

“You ordered for me?  Always the gentleman.”

The man looked no more relaxed at the bar as he did in his office.  Fatigue lined his face, and he leaned heavily against the bar, as if something was weighing down on his shoulders.  His eyes were bright and inquisitive, cynically studying the rim of his glass.

“Nonsense, I just got here first and know what you like.”

Sole rolled her eyes, “You just can’t take a compliment, can you?”

“I can,” Quinlan flushed indignantly.  “Anyways, how was your day off?”

“Honestly?  Sort of boring, I hadn’t realized how little a life I had outside of the Infirmary until I got away from it.”  Sole snorted, “I spent three hours reading  _Brotherhood of Steel: Will of Iron_  today.”

Quinlan made a face, “I never did understand why that was in our history archives.  It’s glorified propaganda.”

Sole shot a glance towards the two men to her right, “Don’t let them catch you saying that – they probably have signed copies.”

Quinlan laughed his rare laugh; dry and reedy, and the rareness of such a sound suddenly made Sole’s comment seem that much funnier.  Another laugh spilled from her, making her snort into her drink messily.  Quinlan grabbed his kerchief from his front pocket, and dropped it in front of Sole, wrinkling his nose at her display.

“How ladylike.”

“Shut up,” Sole wiped her nose and glared at Quinlan.

“What’s so funny?”

Sole whipped around to her right, cloth still pressed to her nose.  Paladin Danse was looking at her with his eyebrows raised, Arthur bore his default glower.  

Sole flushed suddenly, nodding respectfully, “Elder Maxson, Paladin Danse.”

Quinlan mirrored Sole’s respectful gesture save for the smirk.  “Elder Maxson, Paladin Danse.  Sole here was just telling me about the…riveting book she was reading today.”

“Oh, and what book was that?”

Arthur moved from his spot on Danse’s right and around the bend of the counter, to sit between Danse and Sole.  Sole had to suppress a shiver at the proximity of the severe man.

“Why, it was  _Brotherhood of Steel: Will of Iron_.”

Arthur nodded approvingly.

“Oh, I love that one – I have a signed copy actually, handed all the way down from Farsight.”

Quinlan and Sole exchanged a short, loaded look, before Sole feigned interest.

“Wow – really?  That’s something.”

“So, what did you think of it?”

“Of what?”

Quinlan elbowed Sole in the ribs.

“Oh – the book, right!”  Sole flushed, before meeting Arthur’s expecting gaze.

“I uh, really enjoyed it, and all its…enthusiasm…for the Brotherhood.”

Danse’s eyebrows furrowed, and Quinlan rolled his eyes.

“Nice one.”  Quinlan cocked an eyebrow.

“You can speak freely here, soldier.”  Arthur looked at her unblinking.  Sole thought he might look less severe without the angry scar that scored across his eye.

She paused, thoughtful.  

“Alright, well if I’m being honest, it seems really…biased.”

Arthur’s intense gaze rested heavily on Sole.

“Can you elaborate?”

Sole nodded, “I can.  A history, ideally, should be a factual account of something from the past, but this book wasn’t a factual account at all, it was more of a…positive testimony to the core ideas of the Brotherhood.  Which is fine – but it shouldn’t be considered a historical archive.”

Arthur nodded, thoughtfully, “But couldn’t you argue that such an account is factual to the Brotherhood of Steel?  And is it not the winners that write history?”

“But what did we win?  And sure, winners  _get_  to write history, but that doesn’t mean that it’s  _the_  truth – it just means that it’s the truth everyone gets to hear.”

“Hm,” Arthur’s face was impassive, and not the least bit less intimidating.  “Perhaps you’re just skeptical of what’s being passed on as the truth.”

“I am, “Sole agreed, “But I think if you’re searching for the truth, then you have to be, to ensure that you’re getting the most truthful version of the story.”

Arthur nodded, “I understand that – I respect it. You’re right,  _Brotherhood of Steel: Will of Iron_ was written by someone in the Brotherhood, and of course, is consequently full of praise for it. But, the greatness that is touted in said archive  _is_ the truth.  This fight for humanity is the only fight that really matters, and we’re the ones fighting it.  The ‘losers’ are the ones who threaten the delicate balance the Brotherhood has sworn itself to defend.”

“I suppose.”

“Do you not agree?”

Sole was thoughtful again, “I wouldn’t say that…but I’m…uncomfortable with generalizations.  They’re a bit polarizing, don’t you think?”

Arthur shook his head, “ _Polarizing_  – maybe, or maybe you’re not comfortable picking sides. It’s important to remember though; by choosing neutrality, you’re remaining complicit to the evil that ravages the Commonwealth, and that’s no different than siding with that evil.”

Sole was quiet, this wasn’t a battle she would win, and fighting it too hard may send the wrong message.

“Good talk though, you have a sharp mind and an earnest heart it seems – this leads me to believe that you are a good addition to the Brotherhood.  We’re happy to have you fight by our side.”

“Thank you, Elder Maxson.” Sole found herself ducking respectfully once again.

“Danse and I have some matters to see to, but you two enjoy yourselves.”

Arthur’s gaze lingered on Sole.  She forced herself not to shrink back against the smoldering scrutiny.

Danse left his perch on the stool.

“Ad Victoriam,” he nodded, before following Arthur.

“Elder Maxson, Paladin Danse,” Quinlan acknowledged before turning to you.

“I don’t know if you have a lot of guts, or practically no common sense.”

“Excuse me?”

“Questioning the Brotherhood like that?  Get on anyone’s bad side and they could easily twist what you said into treason.” Quinlan shook his head.  

“But you agreed! It was basically propaganda!”

“I didn’t agree in front of our superiors though.” Quinlan pointed out.  “In any case, Maxson seemed…involved.  I don’t know why, but he certainly seems to have taken a liking to you.”

Sole scoffed, “Liking?  That’s what that was?  It felt like I was being interrogated.  If that’s like, then I’d hate to see  _dislike_.”

“If it were dislike, you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Quinlan looked at Sole sharpily.  “Regardless, you’ve seemed to catch the Elder’s eye, you’d do well to bear that in mind before opening your mouth.”

Sole’s stomach did flips at the prospects of what that could entail, and she hurriedly polished off the last of her drink, desperate to burn the strange feeling away.


	3. Arthur Goes to the Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight-Captain Cade and Elder Maxson are waiting for the Sole Survivor when she wakes up the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

A sharp knock at her door jolted Sole from the comfortable veil of sleep.  She cracked an eye open and her heart leapt in her throat at the alarming sound; a harsh break in the sleepy quiet of her quarters.  Sole groaned, and forced herself into a sitting position; immediately, her head swam, a throbbing ache protesting any movement.

She pinched her eyes shut, and pressed her fingers to her temples, trying in vain to find a spot that would vanquish her pulsating hangover.  The sharp rap at her door sounded again, and irritation flashed through her.  Sole threw her legs over the side of the bed, tossing the blankets aside.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”  Sole grumbled, grabbing a sweater from the back of her desk chair to throw over her wrinkled loungewear.

Sole cracked the metal door open, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Yes?”

A Brotherhood Initiate Sole had seen around before but couldn’t exactly place saluted.

“You are to report to the Infirmary as soon as you are able; Knight-Captain Cade and Elder Maxson await you there.”

The mention of both superior officers jerked Sole from her groggy stupor.

“Yes, right away, thank you Initiate.”  Sole awkwardly saluted back, raising her left arm so that it was perpendicular to her chest.

It felt clumsy in her lack of use; she knew it of course, but she hadn’t made it a habit – she technically wasn’t a Sister. If the Initiate found the gesture strange, she hadn’t shown it; just nodded in acknowledgement before turning on her heel and taking leave.  Sole shut the door behind her, her fingers lingering against the cool metal for a few moments.

_What could they want with me?_

Unease ran cold through Sole, and she turned to the modest dresser in her room.  When she had arrived at the Prydwen, given her lack of a technical place on the hierarchy, they had given her some of the excess of whatever clothing they’d had on hand at the time; as such, Sole had a variety of Brotherhood attire.  Sole hastily pulled on a thick, red sweater – one field Scribe’s usually wore beneath their gear, with the Brotherhood of Steel insignia emblazoned on the arm, along with a pair of standard black trousers, and boots. Sole rushed to the sink tucked in the corner of her room, and brushed her teeth, not bothering to glance in the mirror; however terrible she looked, she was in too much of a hurry to make much of a difference now.  

Sole left her quarters a meager ten minutes after the Initiate had woken her up, and it was another five minutes by the time she had navigated the twisting corridors of the lower deck of the Prydwen, and stepped foot into the Infirmary.  As promised, Arthur and Cade were waiting, both of their gazes flicking to her as she entered the room.  A few moments passed with Sole blinking at them, before it occurred to her to salute.

“Ah – Elder Maxson, Knight-Captain Cade, pardon me.”

The salute and apology felt clumsy.

Cade chuckled, and saluted back, “You’re formal this morning.”

Sole’s cheeks flushed before her gaze flicked to Arthur, and then back to Cade.

“I’m unsure of when I’m supposed to salute; I’m technically not in the Brotherhood, but everyone else here is, and they do, so uh –“

“From now on, you do so every time you’re in the presence of someone who outranks you, like now.  So, it’s not bad that you’re getting into the habit.”  Elder Maxson directed.

“From now on?”

“That’s right, today we’re officially inducting you into the Brotherhood.  Knight-Captain Cade tells me that you’ve completed your training aptly and has recommended you join the cause as a doctor – that is, if you want to.”

Sole’s mouth was dry, “I – yes, absolutely, I do.”

“That’s what I thought,” Elder Maxson nodded approvingly, and if Sole didn’t know any better, she’d say she could detect a smile in his voice.

“You’ll conduct most of your duties here on the Prydwen as you have been; medical exams, charting, and other day to day operations.  However, you will also be expected to act as a first responder during conflicts.  Even though you’re not in the field regularly, we still expect you to uphold core Brotherhood ideals,” Maxson warned, his eyes trained on her.  “To protect the sanctity of mankind by purging the abominations the Institute brought into our world.  To guard the purity of humanity with your life.”

Sole’s stomach flipped, and for a reason she could not yet place, she felt apprehensive.

“I swear it.”

“Then I hereby declare you a Senior Knight of the Brotherhood.  Ad Victoriam, Sister.”  Arthur saluted Sole.

“Wait – Senior Knight?”

Cade and Arthur watched her, waiting for a question.

“I mean, didn’t…you skip a few steps?”

“Right – you’re not familiar with the way the military works.”  

The barest hint of a smile played at the corner of Maxson’s lips now; faint, but undoubtedly there.

“In the military chain of command, medical personnel are automatically granted a higher status, so that they can ensure medical authority over their patients.  As you are now a doctor aboard the Prydwen, you have been granted a status higher than the majority of those working in the field here, a rank below Knight-Captain Cade, as he’s your squadron leader.”

Sole nodded to demonstrate her understanding.

“Wait – this is a squadron?  I’ve only ever worked with Knight-Captain Cade here.”

Cade smiled a sheepish smile, “Well, it’s technically a squadron now, since you’ve joined.”

Sole raised her eyebrows, unable to disguise the amusement in her voice.

“A squadron of…two?”

“Indeed, Knight.”

Sole nodded again.

“Well, there’s work to be done, so come find me in Proctor Quinlan’s office when you’re done.”  Cade smiled, before saluting to Arthur and leaving.  

_Done?_

Sole only had a few moments to be confused before her nerves took over, her palms growing clammy at being alone with the intimidating Elder.

“I trust you made it back alright last night?”

His question forced Sole to come out from her attempt to hide inside herself.

“I did, I trust you did as well?”  

Sole couldn’t help her knee-jerk response.  Arthur raised his eyebrows, vaguely taken aback at her audacious question.

“…I did, thank you Knight.”

Sole swallowed nervously as her cheeks heated.

“That’s good, Elder Maxson.”

Sole was on edge, her heart hammering in her chest, and it was a few more moments before she realized it was because Arthur was smiling at her.  It was more prominent than the hint of one he wore earlier, and that’s the only reason Sole could detect this strange, small quirk of his mouth.  Relative to most other smiles, it was still rather stifled.

“Anyways, I should leave you to change; Knight-Captain Cade’s waiting for you after all, and there’s much to be done.”

“Change?”

Arthur’s gaze flicked to Sole’s outfit briefly, before returning to her face.

“Yes Knight, you’re currently wearing the Scribe’s uniform.”

Sole blushed, and a nervous half laugh escaped her throat.

“Right – my apologies, Elder Maxson.”

Arthur shook his head and waved it off.  

“You should be able to find a uniform in your size in the back closet there,” Arthur nodded to a series of doors tucked in the back wall of the Infirmary, hiding plainly behind a cot, and IV bag stand.

Sole saluted Arthur, and it felt more natural now.

“Thank you, sir, – Ad Victoriam.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched briefly again, and he saluted her back.

“Ad Victoriam.”

Sole turned towards the closet and heard Arthur’s heavy footfalls as he took his leave.  When they quieted, Sole had figured he’d left, until she heard something  _clack_ onto the desk a few feet behind her.  Sole turned around to see that Arthur had set a small vial of a brown translucent liquid; a detailed label seemed to be wrapped around it.

“Oh, and I find that this usually helps with hangovers.”

Sole flushed, “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

There was that twitch again, and he was gone.


	4. A Study in Subtext

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sole Survivor is assigned her first task as an official member of the Brotherhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Once Sole had changed into her proper attire, she left to meet Cade, her heart still reeling from the encounter with Arthur.  Her heart hammered as she felt a juvenile heat lingering at her face.  It was ridiculous really, she was probably just reading too much into it.  He was the Elder after all, so he wouldn’t have made it that far (or stayed that way, for that matter) if he wasn’t generally well liked by everyone.  Still though, the subtle play of a smile at his lips, the small, more private ways he’d taken care of her – ways that would’ve been inappropriate had he’d done it for anyone else.  Briefly, a ridiculous image of herself dressed in taffeta draped endearingly around a marble column, flashed across her mind. The sorts of cliches from those Victorian romance novels.  All loaded exchanges and stolen looks.  Sole glanced around the hallway, telling herself it was a casual movement.  The disappointment that welled inside her when she found it empty did nothing to dismantle the fervent lies she told herself.

Sole arrived at Quinlan’s office to find Cade and Quinlan both hunched over a dingy looking notebook, with loose papers in a variety of colors and sizes bursting from its edges.

“What do we have here?” Sole asked, stepping in, and wandering to Emmett.

“A Senior Knight already, hm?  I told you Elder Maxson must’ve taken a liking to you.” Quinlan turned to face Sole, chuckling.

Sole’s face tensed as she fought the warmth that threatened to pinken her cheeks. “Ah – that’s not…why…”

Quinlan studied Sole’s response, before whatever rare semblance of humor dissipated from his expression.

“Yes, I know, I was only joking.  Anyways, back to more pressing matters.” Quinlan gestured for Sole to come closer, and Cade stepped back, to allow Sole room to study the documents herself.

“May I?” she murmured, her eyebrows knitting concentratedly together as her eyes fell upon the standard rule notebook.

“By all means—” Quinlan nodded “—this was recovered by a patrol near the CIT ruins: essentially a technological monument in the area.  We’ve brought you and Knight-Captain Cade here because it seems to hold valuable medical information.  The issue remains though, that the majority of the notes are written in a language we’re struggling to decipher.  The Brotherhood’s use of Latin has helped with some of the transcriptions, but the rest is done in a language that must’ve been annihilated when the bombs dropped.”

Excitement fluttered in Sole’s chest – encountering something so distinctively pre-war was a rarity out here – luckily, the Brotherhood seemed to have dibs.  Carefully, Sole’s eyes scanned over the pages laying open; tracing the detailed diagrams and sifting through the heavy medical jargon.  Silence hung over the three scholars for a few minutes, until finally, Quinlan couldn’t mask his impatience any longer.

“Well?”

Sole looked up, grinning. “I can read it – it’s in German.”

Quinlan looked visibly relieved, and Cade, triumphant.

“Having someone pre-war is definitely to our advantage.”

Sole rolled her eyes. “Oh, so that’s all I’m good for.”

“Of course not – but you’ve certainly saved the Brotherhood precious time and resources,” Cade said.

“Happy to be of service.” Sole shut the notebook.

“Glad to hear it Knight, you’ve just received your first assignment.”

A puzzled look flitted across Sole’s face.

“You are to read and transcribe the contents of that notebook, and then you will present those findings at a meeting with Elder Maxson.”

Sole ignored the way her heart leapt in her chest at his name. “Alright, I’m on it.”

“Ad Victoriam, Knight.”

“Ad Victoriam.”

Sole spent the rest of the day poring over the technical documents at the Prydwen archives, despite having her own desk set up at the infirmary.  It was simply just too noisy, between the Initiates’ coming in and excitedly babbling throughout their physical exams, and the odd hypochondriac.  The Prydwen archives, while dusty, was quiet and warm.  Sole took a seat at a table that was practically being overrun by the tower of boxes filled with reports, documents, some holotags, and sometimes, even field samples.  The boxes created a sort of cave for Sole to study in, keeping her nestled cozily out of sight; and others, initially out of her own sight.

Sole was about halfway through the notebook when she lifted her arms above her head, tugging luxuriously as she stretched out or her cramped position.  Her hands ran tiredly over her face, and her gaze searched out a clock amongst the clutter in the room.  Teetering precariously on a stack of boxes a few feet away, an alarm clock.  Sole squinted, trying to decipher the tiny, black smudges.

10:11 PM

It had been about twelve hours, give or take, since she had buckled down in the library, and got to work reconciling her knowledge of medical jargon with her knowledge of the German language, and then translating.  Sole leaned back, and sighed heavily, needing a few minutes to clear her mind.  It was then she noticed someone familiar sitting a few cluttered tables away.  Sole sank lower into her seat, hoping that the boxes would swallow her up.

Arthur was hunched over a file folder, flipped open, with documents splayed out around him, searching intently.  Sole couldn’t help but stare; seldom did she see him actually at work.  She noticed the way his intelligent eyes sifted weightlessly through what Sole had assumed to be dense material.  It almost felt like Sole was intruding on a private moment, watching Arthur read.  Embarrassed, she turned back to her own work – there was much work to be done all around, after all.

The quiet of the archives room made it seem as if barely any time had passed, while simultaneously, time flew.  Time moved differently depending on how one moved though, didn’t it? Sole mused to herself.  Sole felt like she was underwater when she studied this intensely – noises were muffled, motion felt more dilute.  It was like being allowed your own private corner of the world, one you could take out, and open up whenever one so wished.  After two short hours flew by, a nearby shuffling sound forced Sole to surface.  Sole started, her elbow drawing back sharply and hitting a box, sending it, and the ones stacked atop it, toppling to the ground.

“Crap!”  Sole muttered, scrambling over to clean up the mess she made.

“Trouble seems to have found a friend in you.”

A familiar voice said from above Sole.  She forced herself to keep her eyes focused on the box she was righting, and the files she was filling it with.

“Not trouble – just bad luck.”

Arthur was thoughtful for a moment. “I won’t argue with that, although it seems your luck is turning around.”

Suddenly a pair of clean but calloused hands entered Sole’s line of sight, stacking files, and placing them neatly into the same box.

Sole startled again, unsuccessful in keeping her searing blush at bay.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because you’re here.”

Both Sole and Arthur seemed to labor over the ambiguity of his words.  Arthur cleared his throat as one hand came to rub at the back of his neck, while Sole tried to busy herself further with cleaning up.

“On the Prydwen I mean, instead of out wandering around the Brotherhood.  Now you have a family.”

Sole raised her eyebrows. “A family?”

“Sure Knight. Loyalty is prized in the Brotherhood.  Loyalty to the cause, and to each other; your brothers and sisters.  Any one of us would take a bullet for you and would expect the same of you.”

“’Us’?” Sole purposely turned back to her task, upon asking.

“Yes, I as well.”

Sole’s heart squeezed in her chest. “That’s…unexpected.”

Arthur’s expression was skeptical. “If anything, I must be held to this to a larger extent.  A group is only as good as their leader, and a good leader must lead by example.”

Sole nodded. “You’re right – in theory.  Realistically though, I’ll bet many people fall short of that.”

Arthur’s face was unreadable. “Then such people aren’t meant to lead.  It’s a responsibility.  A privilege – not a right.”

Sole paused to study his expression, calm still, but somehow a little daunting in such gravity.  Like the glinting of a knife laying out in the open, or the still surface of a lake at an unknowable depth.

“That’s idyllic.”

Arthur’s mouth suddenly twitched with the smallest hint of a grin. “You disagree?”

Memories of their encounter at the bar flooded Sole, and the pink returned to her cheeks.  “No – but I do think that such ideals are merely that – ideals.  Real, observable behavior can vary greatly from that.  Nobody really knows how they’ll act in a crisis until the crisis hits.  It’s not always a choice.”

Arthur neatly stacked the last of the fallen files into the box that allowed for the most space.

“It is a choice though. And letting your instincts run rampant despite the cognitive faculties you have that allow you to assess the situation and act accordingly, is an option.  In my opinion, it is the wrong one.  Even if they make the ‘right’ decision in the end.”

“Well sure,” Sole agreed, “because that decision will have been made of impulse, and you can’t rely on that to make the correct decision every time.”

“Precisely.”

Sole caught Arthur’s gaze, and for the first time that day, she didn’t feel like she had to fight off any girlish urges.  A comfortable silence fell between them and Sole smiled.  For a moment, it almost seemed like he drew closer.  From this proximity, Sole could see the details of the scar that marred his cheek, and the way his eyes seemed to dart from her eyes to her lips.  Most men that did that, did so with almost predatory intent, but in Arthur’s eyes, she saw nervousness.  It was endearing.  It suddenly occurred to Sole that Arthur, with his pedigree had probably no idea what such a loaded silence could turn into – if they’d let it.

She noted the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed and averted his gaze. Sole couldn’t help but want to tease him a little; it felt only fair given the reactions even the mere thought of him had evoked in her, all day.  Sole let herself sway a little closer – dizzyingly so, and she noted the barest hitch of his breath.

“Thank you for your help, Elder Maxson,” Sole breathed, before leaning to sit back on her heels, and beaming at him.

Arthur jolted at the break in the intimate trance, before rising to his feet, clearing his throat yet again.

“Of course Knight, as you were.”

Arthur placed his arms behind his back, his posture severely upright and commanding respect after the small lapse in brevity he’d just suffered.  He paused before leaving the archives room.

“Good night, make sure to get some sleep.”

Sole swallowed, reverting back to her own flustered state. “Of course, Elder.  Thank you.”


	5. Sisterhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sole's findings in the archives end up not being what Quinlan and Cade expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Sole swallowed thickly, feeling herself lurch against a hard surface.  Cracking one eye open, she let the unfamiliar surroundings jolt her into the waking world. Sole peeled herself from the pile of technical documents she had nested in during the night.  Sole furrowed her brow groggily and picked up a notebook at the top of the document pile. She flipped it open, dreading the idea of finding herself alone with the dense wall of German.  Instead, she was met with a series of annotations alongside the data in her spindly scrawl.  Running her eyes over the translations, and explanations,  she released a sigh of relief. She had finished after all. However, a certain word caught her eye and threw a wrench into her already scattered train of thought; Gebärmutterhals.  Fragments from the last night came back to her gradually. After a few tedious chapters on a brief anatomical background, Sole had finally managed to sink her teeth into the main report.  She had been surprised at the…abundance of words of such nature that had cropped up, and though she would never admit it, she was secretly, a little bit pleased.

“Good Morning, Knight.”

Sole looked up and saw Proctor Quinlan in the doorway of the library, two steaming mugs of coffee in either hand.

“Quinlan,” Sole greeted and rubbed her eyes, fatigue seeping in through the cracks of her momentarily triumphant high.

“Late night?” he remarked, and set one mug down in front of her.

“Yeah, I don’t even know when I finally passed out.” Sole yawned, as if to demonstrate her point.  “I finished though.”

Quinlan’s face lit up uncharacteristically. “You did?  You managed to decode the entire book?”

“I did.” Sole struggled to keep her expression casual.

“Why, that’s excellent.  Then you’re all set to present today?”

Sole sipped her coffee, concentrating on the bitter taste that lingered on her tongue.  “Yep.”

The corners of Quinlan’s eyes crinkled as a smile threatened his lips. Stubbornly, he cleared his throat and his expression. Like he would not allow himself to give her the gratification of knowing he was impressed.  “We should tell Elder Maxson and Knight-Captain Cade immediately. They’ll be anxious to assemble the other proctors for a meeting to discuss your findings.”

Sole pursed her lips discreetly. “Yes, definitely do that.”

“I will.” Quinlan nodded brusquely at Sole, before hurrying back out the door, a spring in his step.

A few hours later, a knock at the door of her private quarters summoned her to the Command Deck.  A nervous warmth spread through her; butterflies lavishing her stomach as a clammy sweat coated her palms.  She had no qualms with taking charge in the meeting; in fact, she was excited.  The surprising findings seemed like the perfect way to start her service for the Brotherhood; and an apt way to initiate the changes she already suspected the paramilitary faction would benefit from, (despite having only been a part of it, technically, for about a day.)

Standing up in front of the elite scholars in the Brotherhood today, and declaring what she was to declare was undoubtedly bold.  If not met with resistance, she would be met with… disinterest, and a persistent non-understanding for why it was necessary in the first place.  She could vividly recall how similar issues were treated in the United States Armed Forces; the very roots that had sprouted the Brotherhood after the bombs had dropped.

Sole stacked her notes neatly and tucked them securely under her arm.  Before they could resist though, they had to hear her findings.

When Sole reached the Command Deck, her gaze instantly averted; hyperaware that the broad figure at the head of the formation was Arthur.  Recollections of their moments together in the Archives Room flashed through her mind.  Despite her playfulness last night in the face of catching Arthur Maxson nervous, she couldn’t bring herself to play coy through her own nerves this time around.  The heated thrumming in her chest, and the pink hue that dusted her cheekbones threatened her professional disposition.

To Arthur’s right, Proctor Quinlan sat, followed by Knight-Captain Cade, and finally Proctor Ingram.  To the left; Proctor Teagan, and two scribes.  When everyone had settled into their seats, Sole cleared her throat, still standing, cutting through the wash of shuffling noises.

All eyes were on her, and Sole began to meet their gazes, one by one as she spoke, careful not to linger too long on any one of them, and extra careful to skip Arthur.

“I’ve finished the translation,” Sole began, “and I want to start by saying that what I’ve found, may surprise you.”

A few hushed murmurs rippled throughout the small circle.

“Before you… openly react, I just ask – and I am asking – that you let me finish revealing what I’ve found, before we come to a decision about how to proceed.”

Sole’s gaze held gravity unmatched, holding everyone at rapt attention, at the edges of their seats.

“That being said, we can begin.  Documentation 4765 was found in the CIT ruins by Scribe Bigsley’s patrol.”

A smattering of applause broke out in the circle as Elder Maxson nodded curtly to a scribe on the aforementioned patrol.

“The contents of Documentation 4765 details a published study done on a subject as follows; Obstetrics and Gynecology, and Strenuous Physical Conditions of Women; Advances in Women’s Health.”

Sole’s voice was strong and commanding; imbued with the same timbre Arthur used when addressing his soldiers.  One could have watched her voice fall on the ears of the men around her as their faces contorted; some in confusion, some in disgust.  Proctor Ingram merely raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. Be it from the responses of her Brothers, or in the study itself though, Sole couldn’t tell.  She risked a glance at Arthur’s face to find it was unreadable.

“You’re kidding – it wasn’t technical documentation at all, but a medical study?” Quinlan asked in disbelief. “And one about –“ The rabbity Proctor’s face reddened at the thought.

Teagan snorted loudly. “So basically, you concluded that Documentation 4765 was useless.”

Arthur’s stony face came to life and jabbed a sharp look at the dismissive Proctor.

“Quiet.” The Elder turned his dark gaze back on Sole.  “Please, continue.”

Sole swallowed as if to ensure she was void of any uncertainty before continuing.

“On the contrary, I believe this is not only a worthwhile endeavor for the Brotherhood to pursue, but a necessary one.” Sole looked at Arthur, her eyes steely in their resolve. “We need to implement better health protocols for our Sisters.”


	6. Hellfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

The circle was quiet for a few moments, and then Proctor Teagan broke it with his mean, raucous laughter. 

“Yeah, an’ on top of that, we can come out with a line of pink uniforms, and call ourselves the _Sisterhood_ and –“

“That’s enough, Proctor Teagan.” Arthur silenced, although a look would’ve sufficed.

Teagan’s jeers gave way to a phony cough and Sole wilted. 

“I think it’s a fine point, although, I do have to ask where the resources and funding will come from…” Quinlan said quietly, not meeting the sharp look Sole aimed at him.

Ingram looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything. 

“The health of everyone in the Brotherhood should undoubtedly be a priority,” Arthur said diplomatically, “and if we’re failing to prioritize our Sisters’ health, then we should fix it.  Proctor Quinlan raised a good point though; if our health system needs…refactoring, those changes won’t come for free, and while it’s a priority, the Brotherhood simply can’t afford to funnel all of its resources in a cause secondary to our purpose.” 

Tension edged in Sole’s jaw, and she tried not to stoke the rising heat in her throat.

“I’m interested in hearing what Knight-Captain Cade has to say.”

Everyone’s eyes shifted to the senior medic, who’d remained quiet up until this point. 

“Advances in the medical field are just as important as technological ones, or advances made on the battlefield, for that matter.  Plus, medical conditions are exclusive in nature,” Cade shot Teagan a look, “does that mean we stop searching for cures entirely, just because only a certain percentage of the population suffers from it?  I think this Knight as a point; it’s a lead worth pursuing.  We should at least see what can be done.”

Arthur nodded.

“Very well,” he turned to Sole, “We applaud you in your findings Knight; your next task will be to come up with applications of the information you found.  Present them to Knight-Captain Cade and I, and we can decide where to go from there.”

“Yes, Elder Maxson.”

“Dismissed.”

Arthur rose to his feet, signaling the end of the meeting, and a split second later, everyone else did too.  Sole began to regather the weighty file she’d put on the table, restacking the already orderly notes.  Teagan and Ingram trailed out behind Arthur, Cade, and Quinlan.

“Hey Ingram, do you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside now?” Teagan asked mockingly.

“Teagan, shut the _hell_ up.”

-

It was back to the Archives Room with Sole then; this time more for the quiet planning space, than research purposes.  She went to the nearest table, setting her notes and blank stationary down.  When she went to sit, she froze, mid-stoop; a familiar ache settled at the base of her spine as her body recalled the curvature with vivid recognition.  If she closed her eyes, she was sure she’d be able to feel Arthur’s warm breath fanning across her ear, or see the cold, blue of his eyes singe past her eyelids.  Sole thought for a moment, and then decided on the seat across the table.

The article covered some of what Sole had already thought necessary as a baseline for women’s health; yearly physicals that included full gynecological exams should anyone request them, and a mandate for the medics to be better acquainted with women’s bodies.  On her way back to the Archives Room, Sole had stopped at the Med-bay to pick up previous charts from Sisters – her way of taking inventory on the more common medical occurrences in the women on the Prydwen.  What she found was that there was a non-insignificant number with recurring, and often worsening pain in their abdomens.  All of them were diagnosed with menstruation cramps, given Med-X, and sent back to report for duty.  Several of them wound up suffering from internal bleeding - Sole found this out from post-mortem autopsies. 

Moreover, Sole thought personnel should be directed on how to perform self-checks for cancer; especially given the increased risks the high radiation levels provided here in the wasteland.  She also planned on introducing the idea of an introductory sex education course.  That one might be difficult to pass, given how Arthur frowned upon fraternization; but still, as it wasn’t strictly prohibited, and since such fraternization was bound to happen anyways, it was important that everyone be equipped to make the choices that felt right, and safe to them. 

Sole tried to imagine the scope of what such an undertaking would require; ideally, it wouldn’t be limited to the medics, or even just the foot soldiers – really everyone; proctors, scribes, even the Elder himself, should receive the new information she wanted to normalize.  Sole’s cheeks burned at the thought.  How silly she’d feel explaining the mechanics of safe sex, and reproductive health to a man like that.  Surely, he was no stranger to such topics, Sole thought, and her gut wrung itself. 

She was still fighting to put out the fires licking at the apples of her cheeks, when suddenly the pounding of booted footfalls tromped down the corridor.  Sole looked up just in time to see a stream of Knights running heartily from the barracks.

“Knights, please report to Knight-Captain McNally to await further instructions, Paladins, Hornsleth is waiting for you on the upper flight deck,” a voice ordered from where the stream was running to.

Sole scampered to her feet, not quite sure what to do with herself, but feeding off the adrenaline that had begun to course through the soldiers.  When there was finally a break to the pounding of their frantic strides, Sole ducked into the hallway.  Another throng of soldiers rushed around her, the unified sweeping of their hurriedness nearly knocking Sole off her feet.  She staggered back against the wall, and flattened herself to it, as she made her way back to the Infirmary as quickly as she could.  She rounded the corner and saw Cade bringing down boxes of supplies from the storage closets.  The tension that had crept through the air seemed to have already reached him, for he looked up vigilantly the moment she stepped foot through the doorway.

“Oh good, you’re here – help me get supplies ready.”

Sole sprang into action before her mind even conjured up a response.  She took the box from him and brought it to the vacant tables by the door.

“Yessir, of course – but, what are we getting ready for exactly?”

“I don’t have all the details myself – nor does it matter,” Cade replied tersely, “but from what I gather, there’s a massive assault being launched at Bunker Hill.”

“What? By who?”

“Several vertibirds have radioed in, announcing their arrival with the first of the wounded.  They said there are a lot of laser wounds, and that there were gen-2s everywhere.”

Sole’s eyes widened.  They were going up against the Institute already?  The Brotherhood was strong, and of course, Sole had been around long enough to be familiar with Arthur’s plans to dismantle it and everything it represented, somehow though, she hadn’t quite expected it yet.

“Something tells me the Institute isn’t the only thing awaiting our forces on the ground either,” Cade mused darkly, “I’d bet anything that the Railroad and the Minutemen are there fighting for their pieces as well.”

Sole’s stomach dropped; it would be an ugly fight.  The Brotherhood was better armed, and better organized than most, but the Institute would’ve been a problem even without the extra enemies dividing their forces’ attentions.

“That sounds serious.” Sole mumbled, unboxing blood packs.

“You don’t know the half of it.  Hell, it was enough that Elder Maxson himself went down to give extra fire support.”

Sole whirled around to face her commanding officer, her heart in her throat.

“Elder Maxson’s down there?”

“Yes,” Cade shot her a side look, his arms unrelenting in their efficiency as he emptied another box, “he’s dedicated his life to the cause as well, you know.”

“But he –“

Cade turned to face her now, crossing his arms.  His eyes were serious, and far too knowing for her to hold their intensity. 

“He’s the face of our cause – of the sacrifices many of your Brothers and Sisters are making as we speak.  If anyone needs to be down there, it’s him.”

Sole nodded, tight-lipped.  She knew better than to argue, especially with her commanding officer, and especially on that subject.

“Come on now, the vertibirds will be here soon; we need to be ready to meet the wounded.”

Cade strode out of the room, and after steeling herself, Sole followed quickly in his wake.

-

As it turned out, the heavy metal doors leading into the Prydwen were astoundingly thick, and better insulated than Sole originally thought.  The sounds of war and all the grating nuances that came with it; despair, chaos, agony – all of it was filtered of its gut punching weight, through the door.  Looking back, Sole might liken it to watching a scary movie; sure, you knew the characters on screen might not survive, but it wasn’t _real_.  When the door swung open, it was like someone tearing through the screen only to reveal a real murder taking place just on the other side. 

Sole’s heart recoiled sharply in her chest, as if it were trying to escape from what she saw; several scribes that had remained on board were lifting bodies from vertibirds.  No sooner had the broken forms left the platform of the aircrafts, the pilots were lifting up again, stone-faced as they returned to the scene below; like a scene from _Huis Clos._ Sole froze and found herself unable to move until she watched Cade surge forward.  Life seeped into her limbs as she watched him run to the bodies and kneel beside the scribe, her mouth nearly blurring with speed, as she relayed the patient’s initial stats.  Sole beelined for the patient on the adjacent deck outcrop.

“Medic!” the scribe called out hoarsely.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Sole answered, trying to put some weight behind her breathlessness. 

She knelt beside the mangled body studying it as it spread before her in a stillness that was almost reverent.  A man who couldn’t be any older than twenty, lay pale, his lips tinged with blue as death seemed to cling to him.  His orange flight suit told her that he was just a Knight.  Sole continued to scan down his body; everything looked normal save for the holes that riddled his lower, right abdomen.  Blood burgeoned from the wounds, seeping out and painting the metal floor of the deck in his viscera. 

Sole took just a moment to hazard a glance to the scribe across the Knight’s body; she was trembling, her hands folded tightly at her lap as she stared in blank horror at the body before her.

“Hey,” Sole called softly.

The scribe’s trance remained unbroken.

“Hey!” Sole tried again, a little more sharply.

The scribe seemingly jerked awake before turning to look at Sole, still quivering.

“What’s your name?”

“M-Mabel, Mabel Verba.”

“Scribe Verba, are you alright?”

Wetness streamed from the girl’s eyes, and she let out a ragged breath.

“N-No, that’s my…he’s…I know him, and now he’s…and I…”

“Mabel,” Sole forced a steadiness from her writhing gut, “you’re in shock.  This is a tragedy, and I think you’re in shock.  Take a breath, and a few minutes to yourself.”

“B-b-but h-he…”

“Go.  I’ve got him.  Let me help him.” Mabel looked doubtfully to the man’s still form.  “I’ll take care of him,” Sole promised.  “Go.”

Mabel hesitated before rising to her feet and trudging back down the path of the flight deck. 

Sole leaned in to press two methodical fingers beneath the ridge of the man’s jaw bone.  Then she stiffened and looked back over to Scribe Verba’s retreating form.

“Scribe Verba!  What’s his name?”

She looked blearily over her shoulder.

“Ian Krockenberger.”

Her voice barely carried, but it was enough for Sole to commit the name to herself.  Then they both turned away, Mabel leaving to save herself, and Sole returning to Ian.  She paused; pushing her breath, her blood, her needs to the back of her mind in order to focus on Ian’s.  He was just as still on the inside, based on what Sole could feel; no steady thrum beneath the pads of her fingers.  Sole’s blood turned to ice, but still, she stacked her hands together and twined her fingers.  She was going to give a last-ditch attempt to save this man’s life, her own doubts be damned.  Sole forced herself not to think of _him_ ; the same age, the same precarious position on fate’s drawing board, as she dug the heel of her hand at the center of Ian’s chest.  The drone of another wave of oncoming vertibirds orbited her like birds, dazing her as she gave the rest of her air to the man beneath her. 

One thrust, two thrust, three…

Sole continued on in an even rhythm, even after the vertibirds docked again.  From the other deck’s outcrop, Cade lifted the body of the soldier onto a cot, and two scribes, neither of which were Mabel Verba, carried him off into the Prydwen. 

“Sole!”

He caught her attention as he passed, moving to the vertibird that landed at the outcrop behind her.

“Is he…?”

Sole looked to Ian; who’s body squelched sickeningly with her robust movements.  Flecks of blood peppered new reaches of the deck from the force of her thrusts, while the majority of it continued to pool and ooze between the grated holes in the deck’s floor.  She watched crimson drops release from the webbed metal, and idly wondered if anyone was on the ground to watch the blood rain. 

She shook her head to Knight-Captain Cade, her mouth pressed into a tight line.

Cade barely skipped a beat.

“Then leave him, we have more that we might be able to save.”

Sole’s stomach lurched but she rose to her feet and left the shell of Ian Krockeberger. 

The doors of the most recently landed vertibird unfolded mechanically, and a retched scream pierced the air.  Both Cade and Sole flinched back.  The scribe emerged from the aircraft, his mouth a wide ‘O’ of horror, his Adam’s apple shivering with tension.  Sole wondered blankly at this before realizing that the terrible shrieking was coming from him.  Same drill; the vertibird’s propellers restarted its menacing circles as the scribe began to shift the body out.  Soon, the sound of machine swallowed up his cries.  It was almost comforting. 

This man was much more heavily built than Knight Krockenberger, and so it took both Cade and Sole to lift him out of the vertibird.  His black flight suit was rolled down to his waist.  That and the blood that dribbled down and gathered at the folds of his clothing, catching on the wiry, black hair of his torso alluded to some sort of traumatic, upper-body injury.  Cade caught the man’s legs, and lifted, leaving Sole and the scribe to catch the man’s broad shoulders.

It was then that Sole felt her joints lock as her legs turned to jelly.  Her lips parted and eyes widened, as if she too, wished to join the scribe in his terrible scream.  Sole could hear Cade yelling at her to come back down to earth, but she couldn’t.  She was too far gone, too far away, floating away from cryogenic vaults and battle-ready air ships and a massive war for the good of humanity.  So far away, that she might not ever come back, and that, might’ve been Sole’s deepest wish granted, for the man in her arms, was Arthur Maxson.


	7. Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

“For  _Chrissake_ ,”

Arthur jostled in her slippery grip as Cade hoisted him onto a cot brought out by two scribes.  Cade pushed past Sole as she froze, nearly knocking her backwards, as he and the other scribe finished unloading the Elder from the vertiberd. Refinding her balance forced Sole to regain some of her former sharpness, and she scrabbled for a firmer grip at Arthur’s shoulder.  Together, she, Cade, and the scribe gently moved the cot to lay it down on the main path of the flight deck; every second counted and triaging before the longer trip inside the Prydwen could mean the difference between Arthur’s recovery, and a funeral pyre.  Cade and Sole remained by Arthur’s shoulders, the Knight-Captain’s hands pressed firmly to the hemorrhaging chest wound, in an attempt to stop the bleeding.  Blood swam in a rapidly growing puddle at Arthur’s chest, painting Cade’s hands in coppery, red droplets.  It splashed readily onto the flight deck.

Where the play of muscle tapered off to his clavicle, Arthur’s skin was an angry red, and seemed somewhat puffy.  The sinewy ridge of his collarbone protruded unnaturally beneath the skin, threatening to tear right through.  Sole’s stomach lurched.  

“Obvious fracture to the collar bone,” Sole announced, her voice hoarse.

Cade nodded, his eyes running along the length of Arthur’s arm, at his side.  Sole followed his gaze, her fingers gently pressed along the swollen bend that connected his forearm and hand.  

“Fractured wrist as well, it looks like,” she said.

It was a mercy that whatever had done this to Arthur, had knocked him out cold, Sole thought.  The scribe by Arthur’s feet was feeling through the material of the patient’s flight suit, where it met the leather of his Brotherhood issued boots.

“We’ll need to undress him to confirm, but I feel a misalignment here as well – he might have a fractured foot.”

“We’ll have to deal with that once we get inside,” Cade noticed the green tinge that had worked its way onto Sole’s face, “three breaks; that’s not great, but none of those things are life threatening. What I’m more worried about are the piercing wounds to the abdomen.”

It was difficult to see past all the blood, but there was another cluster of deep puncture wounds at Arthur’s belly, vomiting out more blood from their ragged lips.  Fear, deathly cold gripped at Sole’s chest, and she felt her breath cut itself short.  She lunged forward to press her own hands to the wounds, and then Arthur’s blood painted her hands as well.  The memory of dead Ian Krockenberger flashed through Sole’s mind; only twenty, and still with so much to prove.  Her gaze dropped numbly to Arthur; only twenty, still so much to  _do_.

“In any case, we can’t take care of that here, we need to get him inside.” Cade looked sharply to the scribes that had carried his last patient inside the Prydwen as they emerged again.  “Scribe Guo, Scribe Dickson, we’re getting ready to go on the move again.”

“Yessir!”

The scribes braced themselves on either end of the cot, squatting at the ready.

“One…two…-wait,” Cade looked to Sole.  “Hop on.”

Sole looked dumbly back at him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Get on the cot too, so you can hold pressure. Both scribes are taller than you, so you might struggle to keep pressure as effectively on the ground.”

Sole nodded, and gently eased herself onto the cot, her knees resting at either side of Arthur’s hips so that she hovered over him. From this angle, she could put her weight behind the pressure.  This was a good thing, but she had to remind herself it was as his body squelched weakly beneath her fingers.

“One,” Cade started again, “two…three!”

On three, the Scribes rose in perfect synchronization, and Sole focused on keeping her hands firmly pressed to the wound through the shift in position.  The trip felt like it was made at warp-speed, the outside world and the inside of the Prydwen blurring together into a myriad of colors, and the feeling of warm blood oozing between Sole’s fingers.  When they made it back to the Infirmary, the Scribes seemed to already know what to do. Cade stayed with his hands pressed to Arthur’s chest wound, calling out orders in case the Scribes got lost along the way, though as far as Sole saw, they never faltered.

One was readying a blood pack for intravenous entry into Arthur, while another was setting up an IV.  Sole hadn’t practiced medicine pre-war, but she’d been to a hospital enough times to recognize certain things, like the monitor as Guo attached a sensor to the tip of Arthur’s fingers.  She was surprised at how well it worked, when the monitor came to life and displayed several brightly colored lines; including one for his heart rate, and another for his blood pressure.  The rhythmic beeping marked the passage of time more significantly than any clock could.  

Suddenly, the monitor squawked in alarm, and the orange line wriggled frantically, before flattening.

“His pressure’s bottoming out!” Cade hissed tersely, and Sole saw his hands twitch at Arthur’s chest, as if he were trying to catch the Elder’s life as it threatened to slip through his fingers.

Soon after, another sort of alarm sounded, twin warnings blaring as a bright pink line followed the orange’s steep decline.

“His heart rate’s following!” Sole said.

She was startled by the horror in her voice.

A high-pitched keening sounded as the pink and orange lines remained flat.

“I can’t get a read on a pulse!”

Sole froze, the blood on her hands suddenly feeling like glue.  If she moved; he died, if she didn’t?  He might be  _dying_.  Even if Cade’s hands were already on Arthur’s chest, the motions of CPR might just make his most pressing injuries fatal.  

“Epinephrine!” Sole yelled to whoever was listening, “He needs epinephrine!”

The Scribes stared numbly at her.  Of course,  _that_  was what the Brotherhood was missing from its medical wing.  Cade’s gaze was fixed on Arthur’s body; not thinking, just at a loss.  Sole was on her own.  Panic made her mind stall, like tires struggling for traction on ice.  She forced herself to look at Arthur’s face; to wonder at what she’d seen in his eyes the other night, to vow to ask him about it sometime – to give herself the opportunity to ask, and she felt the ground solidify beneath her once again.

“You!” she barked at Scribe Dickson, “do you have cigarettes?”

“I uh-“

“Get ‘em out, and light ‘em up!”

The Scribe stared at her.

“GO!” Sole bellowed, and in the next instance, Dickson had a thin, white cylinder perched at his lips, and was patting himself down for a lighter until Guo held his own to the end.  It glowed with renewed warmth.

“Nicotine stimulates the brain to release epinephrine, which will strengthen his heart’s contractions.” Sole explained to Cade, partially to soothe his questioning stare, and a bit to put herself at ease, given at how she’d barely had time to acknowledge the idea before it had left her mouth.

Dickson smoked, and as he stilted the cigarette between two fingers, Sole was seized with a sense of urgency.  The inherent casualness of taking a drag of a cigarette felt tawdry as Arthur lay on the table.

“This isn’t a joy drag; make sure you blow the smoke at him – the point is for him to release epinephrine.” Sole snapped at him.

Dickson took great care in blowing a steady stream of smoke towards the Elder.  Sole continued to sit atop Arthur and willed for his body to give and take beneath her palms.  Suddenly, a Knight burst through the doorway, saluting frantically before drawing in a desperate breath.

“Knight-C-Captain Cade, s-sir –“

“Speak freely, Knight.”

“It’s –“ the Knight took a deep breath, “the vertibird’s brought up another soldier.”

“Find some scribes and tend to him the best you can, Sole and I will be there as soon as we’re able.” Cade directed.

“No, but sir,  _she’s_ …not from the Brotherhood.”

For a few moments, the current disaster seemed to pause, as both Cade’s and Sole’s faces snapped to the side to look at the Knight.

“She was taken accidently in the chaos; she’s wearing Minutemen attire.”

It was silent save for the keening of the monitor and the sound of Dickson exhaling deliberately.

Then, Sole spoke.

“Well, tend to her anyways.”

The machine’s keening broke off into a lofty rhythm, and everyone’s attention was drawn to the opposite side of the room.  

“We’ve got sinus tach!”

Cade sprang to life.

“Scribe Guo, take over for Sole, Scribe Dickson – put that damned thing out, scrub up, and take over for me,” he turned to Sole, “go see to the Minuteman.”

Sole nodded dutifully, not sure if it was a demotion or delegation.  Guo placed his hands tightly over hers, and Sole readied herself for the quick transition. When she felt his hands flex inwards, she stole her own away.  She maneuvered herself over Arthur, trying not to notice that it was him she was hopping over.  When she left the room, she forced herself not to look back.

-

Sole went first to the outer flight deck again – it had been rough transporting Arthur when he was past triage, and even in her current state, Sole was sure the Brotherhood would sooner throw the Minuteman overboard than bring her into the Prydwen.

“What do we have here?” Sole asked, parting through the small crowd that had gathered around the patient.

“A Minuteman.”

Sole couldn’t hide her dismay.

“I meant  _medically_  speaking.”

No one answered, and Sole told herself it was because they didn’t have proper medical training.  The woman was the first patient Sole had that day who wasn’t unconscious; she writhed in pain as Sole went to her, and her body tensed as if an electric current ran through her, when Sole braced her palms on her.

“Hey,” Sole murmured.

The woman shrieked in pain, her voice gurgling in her throat.

“It’s okay – I’ve got you.  I’m going to fix you up, alright?”

The woman’s eyes opened as a bead of sweat slipped down her temple.  She panted, laboring for breath as if her lungs had halved in size.  

“Can you tell me your name?” Sole asked, her voice saccharine.

“F-Falter-butera, Buena Falter-butera”

Sole let out a low whistle, “Quite a name.  You must be quite a girl to have a name like that.”

Buena trembled beneath Sole’s touch, but she stilled as much as she could.  Sole’s gaze was drawn to a sharpness at her shoulder; similar to the one she’d seen at Arthur’s clavicle.  When she ventured her fingers there, Buena contorted beneath her again.

“It looks like you have a dislocation here.  We’re going to have to take care of that first, I think.”

Buena whimpered, but nodded to show comprehension. Sole gave her a reassuring smile before turning to the generous gathering of soldiers around them.

“You and you, come here and give me a hand!” she used her gaze to single out the two, front-most Knights.

They stared doubtfully at her, and Sole didn’t bother tempering her venom.

“Listen,” she started, her voice hardening, “I don’t know about you, but where I came from, being a doctor meant something – it meant taking a vow, it meant transcending political agendas and beliefs, it meant being a healer, and it often meant being a good, moral person.  So, if you’re thinking about not helping this young woman, it  _sure as hell_  better be because you have a highly contagious, flesh-eating virus, and  _not_  because she’s a Minuteman.”

The two Brotherhood soldiers she’d pointed to relented and joined her then.

“You,” Sole said, nodding to the first one, “brace yourself behind her, and hold her steady while I roll her shoulder back into its socket, and you,” Sole nodded to the other, “hold her hand, because I’m sorry,” she turned back to Buena, “but this isn’t going to tickle.”

Buena whimpered again, hot tears leaking from her eyes.  She sniffled, and the soldier gripped her hand tightly.

“You can squeeze it as hard as you want,” he said kindly to her, and she gave him a wobbly smile.

Her brow furrowed, clammy with a pained sweat, and she gripped his hand like she might a gun; firmly and with purpose.  

“Alright, I’m going to start now.” Sole said.

She looked to the soldier braced behind Buena and nodded. As she carefully pushed forward, Buena grunted in pain.  Sole felt a tight resistance as she gripped Buena’s arm.  She rolled onto the balls of her feet, putting her weight behind it, and Buena let out a yelp of pain.  Sole teetered forward, with a more forceful momentum, and an audible pop sounded from the Minuteman.  She gave a short burst of a scream and curled inwards around her grip.  The soldier who held her hand rubbed her back soothingly with his free hand, murmuring what Sole assumed to be meager comforts, in Buena’s ear.

Sole rolled back to sit on her butt, and as the tension leached from her body, she felt a giddy sort of relief wash over her. Ian hadn’t made it.  Arthur…Sole didn’t want to think about him right now, but this woman, was going to make it.  She was fine. A dizzy giggle bubbled from her throat, and Buena looked over, in mirrored elation.  It felt expansive, this sort of levity.  Like it may have budded in their chests, but then easily surpassed the confines of tissue and bone, swallowing the Prydwen like it was a tiny, colored pill in the organizer Nate had kept, pre-war.  It was so dominant in that moment, so all-encompassing, that Sole let the daggered stares of the more perturbed Brothers fall squarely at her back.  

While Sole was blind to the outrage of some of the soldiers, she was not blind to the implications of saving a soldier from the other side.  She had no doubts that Arthur would hear about it sooner or later; the thought of him calling her to his personal quarters thrilled her momentarily, before dampening with the rust colored blood that still slickened Sole’s hands at certain points.

He’d want to hear her side of the story, of course, and she hoped more than anything, he’d have the opportunity.


	8. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Sole had stopped listening to the distant pattering of gunfire long before it actually ceased, if she were being honest, so she didn’t know exactly when the assault on the police station finally ended.  All she knew was that the next morning, when the faded, yellow clock mounted on the wall read somewhere around half past five, she was up, one hand massaging gingerly at her sore neck.  The stiff, wood chairs the Brotherhood included in patient rooms were as unforgiving as most things were on the Prydwen, and even the Elder’s room was not spared such treatment.  

Her chair and her joints creaked when she finally lurched to her feet.  On the bed, Arthur remained as still as she’d last seen him, but thankfully, he was still in the bed at all.  Strips of white bandages now flashed brightly against his skin, and he remained half swathed in the itchy, green, Brotherhood-issued blankets.  The monitor he was hooked up to beeped rhythmically, the orange and pink lines sloping at a steady pace.  He still hadn’t woken up.  

Sole tried to remain optimistic as she passed the days circling like a vulture – warding death away instead of hungering for it. Sole replaced and replaced again the flowers in the vase that sat at his nightstand.  She made sure the glass next to the flowers was clean and always full of cool, fresh water, in a ritualistic manner, as if doing so might coax the Elder back to the land of the living.  With the first twenty minutes of her day now done, she had the rest to spend waiting and charting, but mostly waiting.  

Every so often, Cade would reappear in the doorway, as haggard and gaunt as his blanched uniform.  He’d come in to glimpse the monitors, and upon finding Arthur still asleep, and Sole faithfully at his side, he would find nothing else to do in the few moments remaining of his stay, other than hazard a look Sole’s way.  Her face was impassive as she scrawled numbers and adjectives, equally as unassuming, onto a piece of paper pinned to a clipboard, Arthur’s name at the top.

_Stable.  Steady heartbeat.  Should wake up soon._

Still though, Cade knew better than to say what he wanted to.  

_Should wake up_

For now, she wasn’t doing anything she technically wasn’t supposed to, although having Sole camped out at Arthur’s bedside surely didn’t escape his notice.  She would be strong enough to have that conversation with him if – when – Arthur woke up.  Hell, perhaps the conversation wouldn’t even be necessary by that time.  Maybe her attentiveness was merely spurned by her anxiety; Arthur was well-respected, and very popular amidst the Brotherhood after all, Cade thought, although he wasn’t so naïve as to actually believe such devotion would dissipate so easily.

Cade wasn’t the only visitor Arthur had either; the proctors seemed to hover at wider breadth than Sole did but hovered all the same.  The Knights and Scribes were too afraid; be it of the man in the bed himself, or his tenuous grasp on life.

When Proctor Teagan would come and go, Sole’s pen would continue to scrabble across paper.  She would hope it’d continue to disguise her hyperawareness to him – could he discern her fumbling heartbeat?  Would he be suspicious of the hours she spent at Arthur’s bedside?  If he did, he didn’t show it.  He’d come occasionally, and lean against the door frame, arms crossed, face unreadable as he studied the Elder’s form before he took his equally silent leave.

A few days after the assault on the Cambridge Police Station, Sole heard the familiar creaking of metal under someone’s shifted weight, and she busied herself more intently with the chart she was writing – Arthur’s chart, again, unchanged, again.  The figure she watched from her peripheral vision was too willowy to be Teagan, held himself with too much care.

Sole looked up and saw Quinlan’s bespectacled face watching Arthur, grimly.  

“Proctor Quinlan,” Sole greeted, unable to mask the relief in her voice.

“Sole,” Quinlan’s mouth quirked up into a small smile, “I thought I might find you here.”

“His condition hasn’t changed since he’s become stable; Cade says it should be a matter of time before he wakes up.  But I –“

“Knight-Captain Cade.”

Confusion embossed Sole’s face.

“Knight-Captain Cade,” Quinlan corrected again, “he’s your commanding officer, you mustn’t forget.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Sole relented but didn’t continue.

She suspected that the slip in formality wasn’t really what Quinlan was commenting on.

“I’ve been told you haven’t left his side since the day of the battle,” Quinlan said, confirming her assumptions.

“He’s an important man,”  _to me_ , “it’s a rather imperative matter from a medical standpoint,” Sole replied like she was reciting from a handbook.

Quinlan nodded thoughtfully.

“Of course, I’m sure you’re not alone in feeling  _that_.  I don’t think Elder Maxson would be the leader he is if the feeling weren’t mutual.”

Sole looked to Quinlan; her eyes wide.  Her heart seized at her ribs, and she clutched the clipboard more tightly, hoping it may prove to be at least a flimsy guard, as her feelings threatened to claw their way out of her mouth and onto her sleeve.

“As Elder, he’s given his blood, sweat, and tears to the cause and consequently, the Brotherhood,” Quinlan said solemnly, the steel in his eyes razing her response, “a husband couldn’t be more bound to his wife, than Elder Maxson is to the Brotherhood of Steel – and by derivative, we are all his family.”

“I see,” Sole swallowed, turning to watch Arthur’s face.

It looked younger with the heaviness of his responsibilities absolved by his sleep.  She smiled.

“I see that’s how you feel about him,” she said quietly, “and that’s, I’ll bet, how the others see him too.  You would know better than I would, if that’s how he sees everyone in the Brotherhood, myself included.  But I’ll tell you something; what I feel for him is fundamentally different from the duty you feel towards your commander.”

“How so?”

Quinlan’s voice was cold.  Or maybe it was just the shortness with which he spoke that made the warmth pass too quickly for Sole to find.  Either way, it didn’t much matter.

“I don’t know exactly,” Sole admitted, but then she recalled the memory of the night with her and Arthur in the Archives Room. She needed more of that, at the very least so that she could tunnel into the depths of his gaze and explore every uncertain glimmer to see how it matched her own.  “but I know that it exists and it’s different.”

Quinlan’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Very well,” he sighed, sounding disappointed.

Sole turned back to her chart, retreating from the gravity in her friend’s face.  She was startled at the feeling of something warm on her shoulder; his hand.  It gave her a supportive squeeze before he turned and left.  Sole studied the now empty doorway for a few moments longer, deciding whether or not Quinlan’s absence was an improvement after all.  Then, a stutter in the monitors seized her attention.  Sole rose to her feet and went to Arthur’s side.  She looked to the monitors, her body taut with her vigilance, eyes searching for extraordinary measures she was more than ready to take.  Finding nothing, she looked to Arthur’s face.

He was looking back.


	9. pas de deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

Arthur blinked, the cerulean of his eyes hazy in groggy confusion.  It was a shade of blue Sole had never seen in him before, but it was certainly preferable to never seeing his eyes open again at all.  Giddiness swelled in Sole’s chest, rising like some inert tides, and heaving her forwards.  She threw her arms around Arthur the best she could, her relief blind to the rungs in Brotherhood hierarchy that separated them.  

“You’re awake,” Sole sighed, pinching her eyes shut.

She breathed in and caught the faint whiff of hubflowers; probably the result of the Medbay sponge baths.  Something gentle nudged at the small of Sole’s back, and when she pulled back, she could spot his hand lingering at her side from when he returned her embrace.

“I am.”

Sole beamed, a warm pink floating high on her cheekbones.

“Then I should go and tell Knight-Captain Cade.”

Arthur’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he let out a small puff of air.  Then he tensed, pushing down against the bed.  Wonderfully alive as he was, he had been weakened considerably by his injuries. His face reddened with the exertion of trying to push himself upright, the tendons in his neck straining against his skin like whipcord.  Arthur groaned as his arms trembled before collapsing him back down onto the bed.  

“Rest,” Sole chided.

She reached behind him to adjust his pillow and the pink spots appeared on Arthur’s cheeks as well as he averted his eyes and tentatively accepted Sole’s grip as she eased him into an upright position.  

“Thank you, Knight.”

Sole’s frenzied nerves balked at the use of her formal title, but her heart rolled over for the small ounce of gratitude all the same.  

“Of course, Elder,” Sole took a step back, “shall I alert Cade of the good news?”

Arthur didn’t so much as blink at the slip in titles, Sole took it as a little victory.  

“No…not yet.”

Sole raised her eyebrows.

“Everyone was very worried you know, they’ll be eager to know you’re alright,” Sole’s eyes hardened, the gravity of the grief that had hung over the Prydwen for the past few days snatching her attention, and taking it to a point far away, “people came up so mangled, we had to root around in them to even find a  _pulse_.” She looked to Arthur, her face iron. “What happened down there?”

Arthur’s face was unnervingly calm, and Sole didn’t know what else she should’ve expected from it.  Creaking metal announced the Prydwen settling in for the night, as if the very walls too were eager to hear Arthur’s gruesome recollection.

“An assault was launched on the Cambridge Police Station, presumably, for the tech our scribes recovered and stashed there. The Institute is believed to be the main culprit, but somehow, Railroad had intel, which added a fair disadvantage to our forces on the ground.  By the time we received the call for back-up here at the Prydwen, the Minutemen had joined the fight.”

“So many boots on the ground,” Sole murmured.

Arthur nodded.

“It was chaos.”  

 _War is chaos,_ Sole thought pointedly.

“Never mind that though, Sole, tell me,” his eyes bored into hers, “what’s happened in my absence?”

Sole’s mouth tightened, and she knew that the skittish twitch of her lips didn’t go unnoticed by the Elder.  It had been his body that had been injured after all, not his mind.

“Knight-Captain Cade and I handled the incoming traumas the best we could, but there were many casualties.”

“Who?”

“Knight Krockeberger,” Sole’s throat tightened at the memory of his pallid face, the resilient stillness of his corpse despite the heat of life that suffused off his skin, dissipating into the air, but not before first slinking past Sole’s fingers.

“He was so young,” Arthur murmured, as if he were much older.  And Sole supposed in Brotherhood years, he was.

“Who else?” Arthur pressed.

“Too many to name right this second.”

Arthur sighed, resigned, like it was all his body could do not to snatch the spent air back and covet it.  He was used to this, but that didn’t mean it got any easier. If anything, the futility stirred at his deepest convictions.

“There’s uh, one other thing,” Sole started.

Arthur looked attentively to her; his eyebrows raised curiously.

“Go on.”

“There was one soldier brought up by accident – like you said earlier, it was chaos.  I helped her, but she wasn’t…one of us.”

“Someone of the Institute?”

Sole averted her gaze, knowing Arthur’s own eyes flashed as his tongue lashed the question out like a whip.

“No.  Minutemen.”

A bloated silence gripped them both in one pudgy hand, before Sole heard a catching noise completely alien to her.  Startled she looked over to Arthur, his shoulders quivering in subdued laughter.

“Oh, your Brothers and Sisters must have  _loved_  that.”

Sole couldn’t help but crack a smile of her own. Seeing Arthur’s own lapse in seriousness brought back that high giddiness, like someone had pumped helium into her lungs.

“For sure.  That on top of the Sister’s health initiative I’m leading has made me super popular,” Sole couldn’t help but flaunt the nipping sarcasm in her voice, “Proctor Teagan’s my biggest fan, you know.”

Both of them laughed at that, and somewhere in between the levity that had arisen, Arthur reached out and found Sole’s hand, which had been resting lightly at the edge of his bedside.  The warmth of his calloused hand over hers seared on as their laughter died down.  Sole bit her lip, and let her eyes fall down to where he touched her.  The warmth itself was comforting, like a blanket, or heated compress, but the man responsible for it had a paralyzing effect on her lungs.  They burned with the weight of her suspended breath, and somewhere inside her head, alarm bells sounded as her heart sped up.  Sole thought back to the night in the Archives Room, and she wondered at how she held up to such proximity to Arthur.  Silence crackled between them, and neither trusted their voices enough to speak.  How could they, when they were unwilling to part, and more unwilling to acknowledge such attraction?  

Sole relished it.

In fact, she was in the midst of memorizing the feeling of her fingertips searing into his skin, and the ache in her cheeks from smiling too much when Cade reentered again.  His eyes went immediately to where they made contact – the least Elder Maxson thing about Arthur in that moment, and Cade cleared his throat. Their intimate moment evaporated beneath his gaze like a shadow scattered from light.  From behind Cade, Quinlan trailed in, averting his eyes and crossing his arms.  It reminded Sole a bit of when she was a child, when her disciplinarian father would scold her, and her mother would stand at his flank, glowering in silent support.  Quinlan certainly wasn’t going to throw accusation of fraternization at the Elder, but whoever dared nudge the conversation that way, he’d be there to rally behind them.

Sole’s mouth flattened into a terse line, and she felt her fingers tense around her arm, where her hand had retreated to. She couldn’t help but think of how Arthur lingered at the palm of her hand.  She kept her eyes anywhere but him as her hand struggled to cage his phantom touch against her skin.  

“Knight-Captain Cade,” Arthur greeted with a professional nod.

His voice was as strong as it had been before, and even nestled against the pillows, Arthur’s spine straightened most respectably at the appearance of his subordinates before him.  Save for the lingering pink at his cheeks, he appeared unaffected at being caught shirking his Elder’s visage.

Sole meanwhile wanted to evaporate.

“Elder Maxson, sir,” Knight-Captain Cade saluted Arthur, “It’s good to see you awake.”  He turned his gaze onto Sole, and she willed her legs not to shake under her captain’s scrutiny.  “Knight, you should’ve alerted me immediately of this.”

Feeling small under Cade’s admonishment paired with the girlish flutters in her chest, Sole flushed.  Her mouth fell open in a trout like manner as she searched for the words to defend herself.  When she came up empty, her mouth snapped shut and her eyes burned threateningly.

“At ease Cade, I directed this Knight to get me up to speed prior to alerting you of my awakening.”

Cade frowned deeply, unimpressed.

“With all due respect sir, there’s a procedure to how such things are done.  She knows that.  She knows  _better_.”

Sole looked down at her feet, the subtle flex of her fingers hardening to a sharp pinch.  Her lower lip trembled – that would’ve been the cherry on top, wouldn’t it? If she started bawling her eyes out, and the Elder leapt to her defense.  For  _Chrissake_.

“Then it was I who erred,” Arthur returned firmly, “not her.”

Cade looked like he wanted to argue further, but he knew better than to.  

“Back to more pressing matters then, I have some things I want to discuss with you regarding the assault on the police station and the days that followed in your absence,” his gaze flicked to Sole, “things that are of a ‘need-to-know’ basis.”

Arthur’s gaze joined Cade’s.

“Sir,” Sole saluted weakly.

She turned on her heel and fled before Arthur could dare raise a word in her favor again.  Surely, Cade would confront her about this later, and she’d need to recover her wits by then.


End file.
